


Speak of the Wolf

by grav_ity



Series: Adversus Luna Ne Loquitor [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-12
Updated: 2009-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Order of the Phoenix brings people together, though not always in the way that they expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I am still not entirely sure where this fic came from. The story of Remus and Tonks has always intrigued me, because we really only ever get to see the beginning and the end. And we don’t even really get to SEE the end. Basically, this is my take on how they came together, stayed together, and fought together.
> 
> Thanks to Amy and Laura for the beta and continuity checks.
> 
> This is Part One of a trilogy, and sticks as closely to book!verse as possible.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own, nor profit from, anything in this story.
> 
> Rating: Teen
> 
> Spoilers: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

**Prologue**

Remus Lupin had never set foot in 12 Grimmauld Place. None of Sirius’ friends had, deemed not good enough for the like of the Black Social Circle. Remus didn’t mind. It was hardly a place he wanted to go, and he was barred from far more desirable locales. He knew what to expect, though. Sirius had told him enough for him to grasp the layout

Here was The Order of the Phoenix, fourteen years on. They were less the Prewetts and the Potters, the Longbottoms and the Mackinnons, and had gained only young and untried wizards in their place. The oldest Weasley boys would be joining, as would a few others. Remus knew it would be hard to keep Harry in the dark, harder still to convince Sirius to hold his tongue. They would face Voldemort with tired veterans and children. Dumbledore talked of love and trust and loyalty, but none of that had helped Cedric Diggory.

Remus stood on the sidewalk and looked up at an invisible building. He reached into the pocket of his tattered robes and pulled out the parchment from Dumbledore. For just a moment, he considered not reading it, never breaking into the secret. He knew what Dumbledore would ask of him. He knew that it was not his Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge, nor his strategic abilities that made him invaluable to the Order. His great contribution would be in espionage, in infiltrating the very group he tried so hard to deny affiliation with. Joining the Order would mean savagery and pain, suffering and loneliness. He sighed and lowered his eyes.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

When he looked up again, there it was; as grim and uninviting as Sirius had always claimed it was. He looked up and down the street, and when he saw no one was watching, he murmured “ _incendio_ ” and flicked his wand at the parchment. It flared briefly, then turned to ashes between his fingers and disappeared into the night. He sighed again, pulling his thin robes close against the wind, and went into the house.

++++++

**Chapter 1**

The kitchen was the only room in the house that possessed anything resembling cheeriness. Molly Weasley had banished Kreacher from the room entirely and did her best to cover the smell of dust and decay with that of fresh bread, wood smoke and well roasted meat. The fire crackled merrily enough, but it didn’t seem to quite fill the grate and the general feeling was still wretchedly oppressive. Remus was reluctant to enter.

Sirius sat at the head of the table, playing host at a party no one wanted to attend. He was flanked by Dumbledore and Snape, leaning towards the former to avoid the latter. Next to Snape sat the mostly recovered Alastor Moody, looking not entirely bad for the months he’d spent locked in his own trunk. Moody, Snape and Dumbledore were deep in conversation, Snape clearly giving some sort of report. Though neither man made eye contact, the distaste between Sirius and Snape could be felt across the room.

Molly bustled around the table, tending to self-stirring stews and making sure that none of the knives she was using to prepare the vegetables were cursed to hack indiscriminately once the user’s back was turned. A stocky red-headed young man, presumably Charlie Weasley, helped her. Bill and Arthur had been working long hours at the Ministry ever since the summer began, and were not expected until later.

Closest to the door sat the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Although he appeared to be concentrating fully on the Daily Prophet he held in his hands, Remus knew that the Auror probably knew the exact location of everyone in the room, what was being said at the end of the table, and how close the roast was to burning.

As always when confronted with a room full of wizards, Remus balked. Standing frozen in the doorway, he told himself that these were his friends, that all of these wizards had sided with Dumbledore, and in doing so had renounced the petty prejudices so championed by their employers. But even those who loved him most didn’t always trust him. Lily and James were dead because of it, and the feeling of isolation gnawed at his already tattered soul.

He had just about finished preparing himself to step into the room when several things happened at once. The front door opened and shut quickly, there was a muffled yelp, a thump, a succession of crashes, and then the portrait of Walburga Black took up its tirade.

“My own family!” it shrieked. “Marry mudbloods and betray us all. And you! The freakish result. No family of – ”

Kingsley flicked his wand lazily, without looking, and Remus had just enough time to dive out of the way of the stunning spell that went flying past his head and shut up the painting. 

“Nymphadora!” Moody called, his tone both resigned and berating, “Will you never learn to look where you put your feet?”

A young woman stepped into the light beside Remus. Her hair was bright orange, and she looked both enraged and embarrassed. Remus knew that look. He had borne it on his own face many times on the during his stint as a Hogwarts Prefect when Sirius and James did something and he failed to stop them and Dumbledore had caught them in the act; the feeling one gets when one disappoints one’s teacher. 

“Don’t call me Nymphadora!” she shot back, her hair flashing an angry scarlet before settling on electric blue. It was the final clue as to her identity

“Remus!” said Molly rather loudly from across the kitchen, “How long have you been standing there? Come in, come in! I’ve food for you.”

“Hi, Tonks!” said Charlie brightly. “We’ll feed you too, you know.”

Tonks winked at him and took a seat across from the one Molly had wizardhandled Remus into. There was a flurry of footsteps on the stairs, and the rest of the Weasley children tumbled into the kitchen, followed by a somewhat more graceful Hermione Granger.

“Will you feed us?” Fred asked, taking the seat between Moody and Remus.

“They ought to,” said George. “We’re the ones doing all the work.”

“Hullo, Tonks,” said Ron. “And Professor Lupin! We didn’t know if you’d be coming tonight or – ”

Ginny elbowed him in the stomach and his eyes cut briefly to the window.

“Or later,” he concluded lamely.

“Well done, Ron,” Hermione whispered, not quite quietly enough. “It is good to see you, Professor. We’ve missed you at Hogwarts.”

“I’ve been busy enough,” Remus said shortly.

“We’ve done nothing but busy,” Fred cut in, leaning across Ron for the salt.

“All we do is clean,” George added. “And mum won’t let Tonks help us, ‘cause she only makes a bigger mess.” 

Remus looked down the table curiously. 

“I’m a little clumsy,” Tonks said bashfully. It might have been his imagination, but he thought her hair might be turning a bit pink at the tips. “Molly seems to think its distracting, even though I did manage to de-hex most of the instruments in the music room in the process.”

“Don’t worry, Tonks.” Charlie said broadly. “It’s nothing personal. Mum was wound tight as a bowstring that day.”

There was generalized snorfling into cups from all around the table. Even Sirius gave up the ghost of a smile, though Snape remained dour. The Potions Master removed himself from the table, a look of supreme distaste on his face as he just missed colliding with a large plate of squash en route from the dry sink, and left the kitchen. Molly set down a plate of sausages with a bit more force that was necessary, but those morsels that took flight were quickly recovered, and the rest of the meal passed mostly without incident.

After dinner, Dumbledore excused himself to return to Hogwarts, a great deal more politely than Snape had. The Weasleys remained in the kitchen to wait for Bill and Arthur, while Shacklebolt and Moody went to take their turn at Watch. Sirius disappeared upstairs so quickly he might well have Disapparated. Remus was disappointed, but not surprised by his friend’s malcontent. He found himself in the drawing room, staring through the grimy window into the Muggle street outside.

“He won’t talk to me either,” a voice behind him said.

In spite of himself, he smiled. She was good. He usually heard people approach, even when their footfalls were muffled in dusty carpets and their breathing was soft.

“Sirius likes to pretend that he hasn’t any family,” Tonks continued, “that James was the only person to welcome him home, and that no one can forgive him for being innocent.” 

She was beside him now, and despite the bad light, he could properly see her for the first time all evening. The haughtiness than ran through the Black line was missing from her face. Instead, her demeanor was open and friendly. Her eyes reflected the streetlight, and she was smiling for some reason he couldn’t determine.

“This place is far from welcoming.” He gestured around them at dust and jinx covered knickknacks. “Can you blame him?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “But there’s a scorch mark on the tapestry where my mother’s face should be too, and I’m not even worth the thread it would take to weave me in.”

He looked at her a third time, trying to determine the sort of person she was. So merry and so grave, so young and so weary. So...familiar.

“Arthur always says this house makes depressing conversation,” she said then, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I’m certainly glad I don’t live here. And I know Molly and the older boys look forward to the nights they’re on watch.”

“I meant to speak to Dumbledore about getting added to the roster, but he left so quickly after dinner I didn’t have the chance.”

“I don’t think they expected you this evening.” To her credit, she didn’t reflexively look out the window as she said it.

“The invitation I received wasn’t exactly precise.”

“Well, I do know there’s a room upstairs for you.” Tonks gestured vaguely upwards. “And Severus has left some more of your potion should you need it.”

His discomfort must have registered in his face instantly, because her eyes widened even as his stomach flopped about like a clipped snitch. He swallowed and mastered himself, holding up a hand to dismiss her unvoiced question.

“There are children here,” he said simply. “And Sirius does not appear to wish to muster himself to change with me. I know and trust Arthur and Molly, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to change in a house with people I’ve only just met.”

“My name’s Nymphadora Tonks,” she said, extending a hand. “You now know the absolute worst thing about me. The very best thing about me is that I am a cracking good Auror. Trained by Alastor Moody himself. I can handle a wolfsbane-dosed werewolf.”

He could feel himself smiling. They were speaking bluntly about his condition, and he was smiling. Not since the heyday of the Marauders had that been the case. He wondered, not for the first time, how Albus Dumbledore did it, how he found these talented, kind, clever people and got them to unite. Perhaps there was something to be said for the faith he put in love.

“Remus Lupin,” he said, and reached for her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

The remaining days of summer passed in the flurry of jinxed flower pots and accidents involving Skiving Snackboxes. On September 2nd, Remus awoke to an eerily quiet house. Sirius did not make an appearance at breakfast, much to Molly’s annoyance, as she had prepared and stored quite a bit of food for him, and wanted to tell him the order in which to eat it.

“Just leave him a note, Molly,” Tonks said in a mollifying tone. “He’ll sort himself out.”

“I do hate to leave him with that elf,” Molly replied. “But the Burrow’s been empty a while now, and I am looking forward to being home.”

“It’ll be Christmas before we know it,” Remus said, forcing a smile he did not feel. “Until then, well, we’ve all got jobs to do.”

“Speaking of, I’d best be off! Kingsley tries not to make a deal of my being late, but he tells me it would be easier if I was more punctual,” Tonks said, grinning. “Thanks again, Molly. Remus, I’ll see you, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” he replied. And then she was gone.

He looked up from his plate to find Molly staring at him, a peculiar expression on her face.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said breezily. “I only wanted to remind you that I’d be very upset if you forgot your new traveling cloak and that you’re always welcome at the Burrow for dinner or a proper bed.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Remus said sincerely. “Your family is the best of wizards. I don’t care what the mad portrait says.”

Molly smiled. “Good luck, Remus.”

And then he was alone, save for his estranged best friend and a bitter old house elf. He felt strangely optimistic about the whole situation. All these years spent drifting, thinking that the only three people in the world who cared for him as he was were dead or traitors, had made him even more cautious with people than he’d been as a boy. This summer, spent with the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione, had made him remember what it was like to have a place in the world beyond simply being outcast. And now there was the fight, the mission. The Order.

He wrapped himself up in the cloak, a gift from an anonymous benefactor that he was pathetically grateful for, and made his way towards the front door. He cast one last hopeful look up the stairs, and saw nothing but petrified elf heads decorating the gloom that not even two solid months of Fred and George Weasley could full scourgify.

Remus let himself out the door, looked up and down the street for any Muggles, and Disapparated.

++++

Given the choice, Remus preferred to arrive at an Apparation destination with his eyes closed. He liked reaching out with ears and nose to pass initial judgment on his surroundings. His eyesight was improved by his condition, but to a lesser degree than his hearing and sense of smell. It was the only aspect of werewolfhood that Remus did not abhor.

He’d landed on hard, uneven ground, but the tattered hem of his robes brushed against mossy softness. The air was free of the bustle produced by everyday wizards, though it hummed with noise no less alive. It smelled of green, of old and dark and dangerous green.

Remus opened his eyes to the Forbidden Forest and smiled wryly. Home sweet home. He was one of the only members of the Order who was both hale enough and at liberty, which was to say _unemployed_ , to go on long-term assignment. He would spend the autumn patrolling the Forest and the fringe of Hogsmeade, and reaching out to whatever creatures he could.

He’d known before the roster was drawn up what his part would be. He’d known it since before he ever set foot in Grimmauld Place. For once, his inability to be employed was an asset: no employer to miss him and no Ministry Officials to watch him. He would be messenger, foot and keeper of the guard. And when the time truly came, he would be second only to Rubeus Hagrid in being sent on the riskiest of undercover missions.

He shook out the tent he’d brought along to stay in. From the outside, it was spelled to look like a medium sized hummock. The inside was in somewhat better repair than his actual flat. A quick look in the kitchen revealed that Sirius’s was not the only pantry Molly Weasley had stocked. He would not have to return to Grimmauld Place for some time.

Remus wasted no time settling in. He moved the tent twice over the next few days, part of an effort to see the Castle and the village from the same vantage point. He established something of a patrol schedule, though he made sure it was not too predictable. He concentrated primarily on the edges of the forest, searching for good lookouts, hiding places and bad spots to be ambushed. He was in no hurry to go deeper into the forest than he had to, as he had no back up that could help him without compromising their cover.

He avoided entering the village of Hogsmeade altogether, save for one place. With great reluctance, he checked the magical reinforcements which surrounded and permeated the Shrieking Shack. They were all intact, which meant he had a safe place to change. The day before the night of the full moon, he placed as many concealment charms as he could think of on the tent, and locked himself in the Shack with only a smoking goblet for company.

The next few hours passed in a muted blur of moonlit fantasy and the contradicting urges to sleep and hunt. As always, he could feel the wolfsbane at war with the monster inside of him, and as always, his drugged nightmares were full of the potion losing, of the wolf breaking free, and of the carnage that would undoubtedly result if that should happen.

He woke to sunlight and ravenous, beautifully human hunger. And to someone knocking on the door.

“ _Vestire_!” he murmured, having groped for his wand.

No one, save Dumbledore and Snape, knew where he was. While Remus wouldn’t have put it past Harry to somehow determine where he was, he wasn’t expecting it to happen until closer to Christmas. Yet there was the knock again.

Remus cautiously peered out the window, but decades of grime blocked his view. He knew from experience that no one would be able to scourgify the dirt: Albus Dumbledore had wasted no effort as chief architect.

Remus also knew that the door to the Shrieking Shack could not simply be cracked open. Stubborn hinges required a sharp pull and left the door standing wide. The design had not anticipated entering from the door instead of the secret passage.

He pulled back on the door handle and with a particularly loud crash and a keening howl, the door opened. Remus fell back, as he had expected, and before he had gained his feet again, his visitor was across the threshold.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” 

Remus’s eyes were not yet accustomed to sunlight and his dull human ears couldn’t place the voice.

“I know you’re probably feeling terrible,” the voice continued, “I did have to read all the material on werewolves to qualify, you know, but I also know you’ll be hungry and I doubt you’ve brought anything that lasted the night.”

Remus blinked several times as the visitor moved past him and set her bundle down on the table. She turned, stepped on a broken chair leg, fell against the table and brought it crashing to the floor.

“Oh, bollocks!” she said, and he finally knew who she was.

“Tonks, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Roast beef sandwiches,” she said, retrieving her parcel from the wreckage. “I’ve probably smashed the Butterbeer, though.”

Remus gaped at her for a moment before hunger won out over curiosity, and he took the proffered sandwich. He sat down on the floor and tore into it.

“You’ll be wanting news, of course,” she said, turning a blind eye to his somewhat desperate lack of table manners. “The _Prophet’s_ still set on bringing down Dumbledore and Harry. No one suspects anything of Kingsley, but Moody doesn’t exactly repel suspicion, and I’m coloured by association. It’s not too bad though. I’d hate to be Arthur.”

“Ah-ree?” he asked around a mouthful of roast beef.

“Harry’s fine!” Tonks said quickly. “He’s run afoul of Dolores Umbridge, but that’s – “

“Dolores Umbridge!” Remus burst out, knocking over the remaining bottle of Butterbeer.

“ _Accio Butterbeer_!” Tonks said, her quick reflexes saving the bottle from an unfortunate encounter with a pile of moldy curtains. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! Fudge made it a law that he could appoint teachers at Hogwarts if Dumbledore couldn’t, and Defense Against the Dark Arts doesn’t exactly...well, you know.”

Remus, who knew very well, nodded.

“She seems to be targeting Harry specifically, not a surprise really, but he’s bearing up well.”

Remus sighed, remembering denied appeals and ever more encumbering laws read from parchment clasped in chubby hands in a girlish voice.

“And Sirius?”

For the first time, Tonks’s face darkened, and her hair became a slightly ominous shade of purple.

“He’s Sirius,” she said shortly. “He’s terribly bored and worried about Harry. I don’t think it’s a good combination.”

“He’ll do what Dumbledore tells him,” Remus said without thinking.

“Yes, but what will he say to Harry in the mean time?” Tonks said. “He’ll talk about James, that’s what. And having adventures.”

Remus winced. It was true. “I’ll have a word with them both.”

Tonks nodded. “Aside from that, nothing. I just wish he’d write to my mother. They were close as children, and I am sure Dumbledore wouldn’t mind. Family is family.”

“You know better than most that’s not always the case.” He said it as gently as he could.

“Blood’s not the family I meant!” she retorted hotly.

“Just give him some time,” Remus said. “He’s still adjusting.”

He swallowed the last bite of sandwich and made a mental note to find a way to bring food with him for after all his future changes instead of stumbling home in a daze to whatever was in the larder.

“I’ve got to go,” she said. “Work and all.”

She waved her wand and all the rubbish and bottle shards flew back into the parcel. There was sunlight streaming through the windows now, an effect that stood sharply at odds with the sounds of the spelled haunting that surrounded them.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” she said, pausing at the door. “It’s Thursday. Harry’s got Quidditch on Saturday. I can’t remember who they play, but you should come!”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling genuinely.

She walked down the path a ways, and then disappeared with a pop. He was still smiling when he reached his tent. He could not remember ever having an easier morning after a change, even with James and Sirius and Peter. His usual pounding headache was already starting to recede, his muscles were barely sore at all, and he only felt marginally weak and dizzy.

It was not until after he scrounged up a second breakfast and finished a pot of tea that he realized he’d never asked her how she found him.


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas cheer clung to 12 Grimmauld Place like snow clung to evergreen branches in sunlight; at any moment, nature would overcome and shake itself clean. Sirius wandered from room to room, exploding streamers and conjuring tinsel in his wake. Remus thought it was a little overdone, but his friend was in such high spirits that he could hardly begrudge the effort.

It had been almost like old times, once Remus gave over to letting Sirius decorate the house. The two of them plastered room after room, trying to outdo each other’s holiday spirit. Kreacher fled upstairs when Sirius spelled a set of jingle bells to follow him around. With the house-elf gone, Sirius’s spirits seemed lifted, and red, green and gold decorations seemed to flow forth from his wand.

Remus had reached the upstairs drawing room first, having taken the stairs at a run. He spelled the door shut, a charm he’d perfected at Hogwarts where securing his privacy had been paramount, and set about a complex bit of magic that would result in pleasant snowfall so long as the company in the room stayed civil. If the conversation became hostile, however, the chances of foul weather increased.

“Remus, you moony cur!” Sirius shouted happily, hammering on the door. “Let me in!”

“Patience, Padfoot,” Remus replied, as he set the final touches on the spell. He hoped Sirius calmed down, or they were likely to start off a blizzard.

They avoided p-words for the most part. Their friendship was strained by years of mistrust and secrecy. It was far easier to take up where they left off as school boys then it was deal with the problems of grown wizards. So they avoided words like _past_ and _prison_ , like _Potter_ and _Pettigrew_.

Sirius was finally tired of hammering and magicked the door open. He paused on the threshold, looking in at the roaring fire, the soft light of the lamps and the gently falling snow. He smiled widely, the smile that Remus remembered so well.

“Well done, Remus,” Sirius said. “It won’t damage the carpet, will it?”

“No,” said Remus. “It melts about a foot off the floor.”

“Good!” Sirius said brightly. “The last thing this place needs is more mould. Molly would kill me. Come back downstairs. We’ve not done the front room yet.”

They discovered rather suddenly that the front room of the house had somehow been bespelled to prevent decoration. Sirius no sooner began to festoon the mantel piece with holly berries when the voluminous drapes came to life and tried to strangle him. He and Remus laughed so hard that they’d offered little in the way of defense, and it was only Moody’s timely arrival that saved them from lighting the room on fire by accident.

Kingsley arrived with Moody, but was been held up in the hallway by the screaming Mrs. Black. Kreacher had taken to loosening the curtain so that the slightest draft would knock it free, and Sirius was too occupied with holiday trimmings to fix it. Besides which, he didn’t use the door. Remus extricated himself from both the drapes and Sirius’s holiday enthusiasm, and left his friend arguing with Moody over whether it was necessary to disenchant the room only to cover it with coloured ribbons. Shaking his head, he followed Kingsley into the kitchen.

“ _Accio_ goblets,” Kingsley said, pointing his wand at a shelf as he sat down on the bench.

He produced two Butterbeers from somewhere within his robes. Remus was a little surprised that someone as dignified as Kingsley Shacklebolt would carry Butterbeer like that, but then decided that the Auror probably had the best vanishing pockets the Gladrags stitchwitches could sew. Remus took the goblet Kingsley sent across the table to him.

“The Order!” said Kingsley, his deep voice rolling through the cold kitchen.

“The Order!” Remus echoed, and both wizards drank.

“Where’s Molly?” Kingsley asked conversationally.

“Gone home for a bit to finish the wrapping, I’d imagine,” Remus said. “Arthur’s working a lot and doesn’t keep the best hours. She said she’d rather use the ovens at the Burrow.”

Kingsley looked at the three big ovens on the wall of the kitchen, and then winced as Sirius yelled admonishments at Kreacher for interfering with the no-melt icicles which decorated the stair well and entrance hall.

“I see,” was all he said.

“The children arrive tomorrow,” Remus went on. “Dumbledore sent me here to wait. I’m glad of it. The Forest is cold and the tent Arthur leant me has a draft I can manage to seal up where ever it’s coming from.”

“Have you kept up on the news?” Kingsley asked.

“I hear things from time to time,” Remus said evasively, hoping that Kingsley would think he meant overheard conversations in the Three Broomsticks and not monthly breakfasts in the Shrieking Shack. “Not a lot of detail, though.”

“Well, not much has changed,” Kingsley said. “They watch Tonks a bit more now. They’re looking for odd patterns in Ministry workers, and she always seems to be late for work the morning after a full moon.”

Remus looked up sharply from his absent contemplation of the foam clinging to the side of his glass. Kingsley looked at him deeply, but not judgmentally, and it was Remus who looked away first.

“They already had their eyes on her, on account of Moody,” Kingsley went on as though nothing had happened. “You can imagine he’s taken her to task on it. Privately, of course. She’s good at her job, though, so I imagine she’ll right herself.”

Remus made no reply. Kingsley didn’t seem to expect one. Instead, he passed along all sorts of Ministry gossip, relevant to the Order or not, that a solitary wizard recently returned from the wild might appreciate.

Remus had long enjoyed an odd friendship with the deep voiced Auror. They hadn’t crossed paths much at school, with Kingsley years ahead and in Ravenclaw besides, but they’d been aware of each other. Kingsley always seemed to be on hand to break up a fight if Remus was walking back from the infirmary on his own and ran afoul of a gang of Slytherins.

After Hogwarts, when Kingsley went on to Auror training, Remus didn’t think about him very much. He’d well fallen in with Sirius and James by then, and with his growing confidence came a forgetfulness of the times before, when he’d needed the help of older students. So soon afterwards, he’d been bereft of all his dear friends, and he’d let loneliness and the stigma of his condition define him.

He did not think of Kingsley again until the Ministry held public hearings for the proposed amendments to the Werewolf Laws. He went, knowing he’d have to keep silent or lose more in the long run, and was quite surprised when Kingsley appeared, sat down, and began to talk to him as though it hadn’t been almost ten years since they’d last spoke.

The rejuvenation of his friendship with Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the only good thing to come out of those hearings. Albus Dumbledore and a few others had spoken of tolerance for werewolves, but there was no stopping the up and coming under-secretary who co-sponsored the bills, and they’d all passed with near unanimous endorsement.

The bond of friendship between Remus and Kingsley, fostered in the corridors at Hogwarts and strengthened over firewhiskey and a mutual loathing of Dolores Umbridge, was quiet and strong. There would be no godchildren and no Fidelius charms shared between them, but there was a great deal of trust and respect. They had been brought together, however indirectly, by Albus Dumbledore, and they were among the truest members of the Order of the Phoenix, even if they didn’t know it.

“Moody!” a strange voice sounded. “Moody, I know you’re here! I can hear you stumping around on that foot of yours. Orders from Dumbledore. Get up here now!”

Remus and Kingsley got to the foot of the stairs long before the unseen portrait finished its ultimatum. Moody was ahead of them, clumping up the stairs and muttering under his breath.

“It sounds like Phineas Nigellus,” Sirius drawled from the hallway. “It’s probably important.”

They could hear Moody upstairs, yelling at the painting. He cut off abruptly, and after a few moments of silence, there was a loud pop as he Apparated onto the landing above them.

“Moody!” Sirius said in alarm, but the curtain fell off the portrait, and whatever else he said was drowned out in the hysterical shrieks.

“ _Stupefy_!” Moody yelled, then: “Kingsley, we’ve got to get back to the Ministry. Arthur’s been attacked and he’s got to be found by the right people.”

Sirius and Remus spoke over each other to ask questions, but Moody silenced them with the piercing gaze of his magical eye. Kingsley was already moving towards the door, and then the Aurors were gone.

Sirius leapt up the stairs two at a time. Remus followed more slowly. By the time he reached the portrait, it was empty and Sirius was threatening to paint over it with dancing hippogriffs if Nigellus didn’t show himself.

“You always were the most ill-mannered of my descendents.” Nigellus said, sticking only his head back into the frame. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to the job Dumbledore gave me: shepherding your equally ill-mannered godson!”

With that, he disappeared for good, and Sirius threw himself at the portrait, yelling swearwords that Remus thought might be trollspeak, or even gobbledygook. He let his friend carry on for a while, until he decided he’d had enough.

“Kitchen!” Remus said, grapping Sirius by the robes and pulling him off his egregious ancestor.

“Why?” snarled Sirius.

“Because that’s where they’ll bring the children,” Remus said.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, and then took off down the stairs as though he was a well hit Bludger. Remus paused only to make a disgusted face at the empty portrait before leaving.

“Careful,” the portrait said, “Your face might freeze that way!”


	4. Chapter 4

The Events which transpired in the Hall of Mysteries were so terrible that Remus never bothered pondering the ‘what ifs’ of the situation. Either disaster would have been entirely averted, or a much worse catastrophe would have taken place. If he’d been at his post and still missed them in the Forest, there wouldn’t have been anyone in range of the fireplace when Snape raised the alarm. Kreacher had laid his trap well.

As it was, Remus was in the kitchen preparing dinner for himself and any members of the Order who might happen along. Sirius was upstairs tending to Buckbeak, even though the Hippogriff had more or less recovered from his mysterious injury. Tonks, Moody and Kingsley were in the upstairs drawing room. The situation in the Auror office at the Ministry was getting more complicated, and they required a private place to discuss their plans. When Snape appeared, Remus had been on his way back upstairs, but the Potions Master arrived in time to command his full attention.

For the only time in their lives, the two were civil to one another: just a quick exchange of information in place of the typical insinuations, and then Remus was off up the stairs at top speed.

“Sirius!” he bellowed. “Sirius!”

“What in the world – ” said Tonks, ambling out of the drawing room. Moody glared over her shoulder and Kingsley looked up from where he stood gazing out the window.

Then Sirius was there. He held his wand in his hand, and his eyes were wide. There was almost an exultant gleam in his eyes. For whatever reason, he knew he would finally be leaving the house.

“It’s Harry,” Remus said. “Harry and his friends. They’ve gone to the Ministry.”

“I knew we should have told him!” Sirius burst out, almost proud. “I knew he’d figure it out!”

“I imagine Miss Granger did most of the figuring out,” Moody began, scathingly, but Remus cut him off.

“That’s not why he’s there,” he yelled. “He thinks – Voldemort – has _you_.”

“Children,” breathed Tonks. “Children against every Death Eater in England.”

“Listen, you lot,” Moody said, his magical eye whirling. “This is my call. You will all do as I say.”

There were nods from everyone but Sirius.

“If you think I’m staying here – ”

“You’re not,” barked Moody. “Against Voldemort, I’ll need even you. But you’ll listen or I’ll make sure you never leave this house again.”

“Tonks, send your Patronus to Dumbledore,” Moody instructed. She nodded and left the room. “Kingsley, raise everyone. I don’t care if they’ll fight or not. We’ll need witnesses, or Fudge will make us out even worse.”

Tonks returned. Remus wondered what happy memory she could possibly have conjured to produce her Patronus. His stomach hadn’t felt this hollow since the nights he’d spent waiting for Voldemort to give up on or attack Lily and James. Yet he remembered sandwiches and heartfelt conversations, and wondered if he might have managed the spell after all.

Moody went down the stairs, rummaging through his pockets to dispose of things he wouldn’t need to fight. Tonks followed him, her bright pink hair making the faces in the portraits turn away in disgust.

“Dumbledore will come,” she said. “We’ll need to leave a message in case someone comes here.”

“Kreacher!” Sirius yelled “Kreacher! Blast it, get down here!”

With a sharp crack, Kreacher appeared on the landing. His eyes had an odd gleam to them, and he rocked back and forth with barely suppressed laughter.

“Yes, Master?” he croaked. “What shall Kreacher do?”

“Dumbledore will be here soon,” Sirius said. “When he gets here, you must tell him everything.”

Kreacher gave a very violent twitch and began to cackle with laughter, no longer even trying to hide it. Sirius reached out and grabbed him by the ear.

“Tell Dumbledore everything!” Sirius repeated harshly.

“Yes, Master. Kreacher always does what Master says, even though Master broke his mother’s heart. In this, Kreacher serves the Noble House of Black.”

“Useless elf!” Sirius exclaimed, nearly throwing him up the stairs.

“Let’s go!” Moody called out.

Moments later, they Disapparated to the Ministry, and then there was no time for reflection. The fight was fierce and instantaneous. Afterwards, Remus remembered only bits and pieces, but the centre of it was always Sirius and Harry.

He remembered catching Harry, stopping him from blindly following Sirius through the Veil. He remembered Harry running after Bellatrix, but Remus thought he’d seen Kingsley follow, and had gone to Tonks to make sure her injuries were not severe. He remembered a sea of befuddled and panicked wizards in the Atrium of the Ministry. And he remembered Dumbledore telling him that Headquarters was off limits. So for the first time in months, Remus had gone home.

Months of emptiness had done little to improve his flat. There wasn’t much to begin with, a moldy sofa, a sparse kitchen, a near empty bedroom, a bath, and a closet that Remus had turned into a veritable prison for the nights he needed it. The couch was still covered with the blankets and pillows Sirius had used when he was laying low after the debacle at the Triwizard Cup.

Sirius.

The first time Remus had mourned for Peter, for James and Lily, and for a boy he might not see again for years. His mourning for Sirius had been guilt-ridden, bordering on hatred. How could he have missed the signs? How could _Sirius_ have been the one to betray the Potters to their deaths?

And now, once again, he was the only survivor of the Marauders. He let his loneliness and his isolation envelop him, shutting out the world entirely. His Daily Prophets piled up on the kitchen table. The tawny owl who delivered them became increasingly peevish as the week wore on. He couldn’t bear the vindication. All those people coming out to say that they had never doubted, always believed. Sirius’s name was cleared, and he would receive no benefit.

No one from the Order had contacted him. It was public now, but his role within the organization would remain secret. If anything, Ministry involvement made his relegation to the background even more necessary. Remus was not surprised. He knew that, eventually, there would come some dark, dangerous, uncomfortable job that he would be called upon to do, because everyone would already be doing something else.

So the week passed. Remus made an effort to clean up, but the flat was in such disrepair that it was futile. He ordered food to be delivered by owl, as was his custom. Since his teaching at Hogwarts, even more of the local wizards knew he was a werewolf, but he hadn’t had time to move. It was easier to avoid his neighbours than it was to determine which of them were willing to deal with him.

He had just settled in for another evening of maudlin remembrances when a rattling knock on the door brought him out of his deep contemplation of the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table in front of him. He sat up, wondering who was at his door. Sirius was dead and Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts, and the list of people who knew where he lived did not extend much past them. The knock came again, frantic and tremulous, and he rose to answer it, wand at the ready.

“We had roast beef sandwiches on the floor of the Shrieking Shack,” Tonks said, identifying herself as soon as he’d cracked the door open.

“Tonks!” he gasped in surprised, for she was among the last of the people he expected.

He made it general practice not to tell anyone who worked for the Ministry where he lived. Kingsley was the sole exception. Even the Weasleys didn’t know. But even more surprising than Tonks’s presence was her appearance. Most people emerged from St. Mungo’s with a pale, wan bit of health around them, one that spoke of incipient recovery. Tonks was grey from head to foot.

“Come in,” he said finally.

When she didn’t move, he took her by the shoulders, intending to steer her towards the newly scourgified sofa and press a cup of tea into her hands, but as soon as he touched her, she collapsed against his chest, shuddering and beyond tears.

“Shhhh,” he said softly, tightening his arms. “Shhhhh, this way.”

Without loosening his grip, he led her across the sparsely decorated room. The sofa was old, but steady. It was also relatively comfortable, which was one of the reasons he hadn’t replaced it. Sirius had left him an uncomfortable amount of money, but he was reluctant to use it on something as frivolous as his own furnishings.

When they were seated, he pulled back from her a little and cupped her chin with his hands.

“What happened?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be in St. Mungo’s.”

“I was,” she said, breathy and stunned. “I - they let me go today. Just now, actually.”

“Why here?” he said, more shaken than he cared to admit. This Tonks was so different from the one he knew, and the difference was more terrifying than a legion of Death Eaters.

“I went home.” Her voice was detached, almost mechanical. “Everything was right where I’d left it, but I could tell something was wrong.”

She twisted her hands in her lap. In the fraction of a second it took him to look down and then back to her eyes, he realized that he was holding her face gently in his hands. Something inside him stirred in an entirely too-familiar way.

“I looked around the kitchen, and everything was right, so I walked into the den. It’s not much, just two chairs and the radio, the fireplace.” Her eyes shone with something he couldn’t identify. “And then there it was. Dog’s blood. On my wall. ‘ _I killed Sirius Black_ ’.”

The enormity of it crashed in on him.

“She knows where I live, Remus. I can’t go home.”

Without a word, he folded her into his arms. They clung to each other, past tears and talk, past grief and terror, in the dark place where only the need for human contact remained. Remus forced his mind to stay there. He knew that the instant he came back to his surroundings, it would be like the breaking of a spell, and he would be forced to realize that the woman in his arms was Tonks. That she trusted him. That of all the people in the world, she had come to him for help.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he heard himself say.

She looked up at him. He felt the world shift beneath him, and before he knew what he was doing, he bent his head, and pressed his lips against hers.

Remus Lupin had not kissed very many people, but in that moment, none of it mattered. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away from him in disgust. For the first time in a week, in years, Remus felt that nothing was wrong. There was only her soft mouth beneath his, her hair that seemed to wrap itself around his fingers, and her warm, solid presence in his arms.

She shifted closer to him, her body fitting itself against his. He felt a flare of warmth deep inside, in the place he tried to deny the existence of. There was hunger there, and desire, in measures that terrified him. And she pressed against him, stoking the fire he feared. Abruptly, and without thinking, he pushed her away.

She stared at him, breathing hard, the pink beginnings of mortification creeping over her face. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face the wealth of emotions she offered, so he shut them down entirely.

“I’ll have to do some cleaning, if you’re going to stay,” he said, because it was the first thing that occurred to him to say. He’d tried to say it lightly, but he knew that it had come out horribly false.

“If I – ” she began, then mastered herself. “Perhaps it would be better if I went to my parents’ house.”

“I imagine they’d have more room,” Remus agreed. He felt rather like everything in the room might shatter at any moment.

“Right.” She was on her feet and backing towards the door. “Well, thank you for the...talk.”

“Anytime!” Remus said.

And then she was gone, and Remus was wondering if he hadn’t just made everything so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Finis**
> 
> Gravity_Not_Included, September 9, 2009.


End file.
